Love and Life
by PersonY2K
Summary: Just before Lizzie is about to confess her love to Gordo, she wakes up and finds herself living a glamorous, fabulous popstar's life. Will she ever find Gordo? And if she does, will she be too late? AND SHE'S BACK! PersonY2K has just updated for the first
1. Shedding Light

Love and Life  
  
Summary- Just before Lizzie is about to confess her love to Gordo, she wakes up and finds herself living a glamorous, fabulous popstar's life. Will she ever find Gordo? And if she does, will she be too late? L/G all the way!  
  
..:Shedding Light:..  
  
A/N: This is kind of like You Wish and that new movie 13 Going On 30 rolled into one. That's where I acquire my ideas, but I swear to God that I didn't see anything but the previews of 13 Going On 30, and anything that happens in that and in this is completely coincidental. But yeah, that's where I got my ideas for this.  
  
I felt I had to start a new story since Love Connection and Return to Kaki's Island are a bit frozen and Tale of the McGuire-Gordons is practically over. So here it goes, Love and Life, Chapter One, Shedding Light...  
  
***  
  
Lizzie's POV  
  
I loved Gordo.  
  
I knew most people didn't come out and say it in the open like that, but I was so positively sure that I could plaster it on billboards across America and not be the least bit nervous.  
  
I had loved him for a pretty long time, almost five years now. But I hadn't really known that. I thought of him as the sorta-cute guy-friend, not much of anything else. I had gone on dates with other guys thinking that I wasn't thinking the least bit about Gordo. But after my 23rd birthday I finally figured out that I had. I had been visualizing every guy I went out with in comparison to Gordo. Did he have Gordo's eyes? Was he as caring as Gordo? Would he like me through thick and thin like Gordo would?  
  
And as soon as I realized that, I flipped out. I felt so rancorous and disgusted that I didn't speak to poor little Gordo for weeks. Then I straightened myself out and started to really think about the matter; was I serious about this guy? Did I have authentic feelings him, or was I imagining things? Or was this all just an illusionary phase I was going through, an end-of-adolescence thing?  
  
I sighed a lot during that time.  
  
When I finally figured out that, yes, I loved Gordo, I started to admire him in new ways every day. One day I'd see him buying a girl some ice cream and thought how thoughtful, kind, and helping he was. The next day he would give me a lecture about staying away from drunkards as if I were a third- grader, and I would think, man, he genuinely cares about me. Things went on and on like that until I had him talked up so much in my mind he seemed like a saint.  
  
So that brings us to about now, when I was sitting on my apartment couch, staring a magazine, but not entirely *looking* at it, wondering if Gordo's eyes were green or blue or gray. They changed a lot. In my opinion, they weren't hazel, but it's not like I had had an opportunity to gaze longingly into his eyes and admire the colors in them. I was judging based on the glances he had given me about once every day.  
  
Whatever color they were, it seemed as if they dropped light wherever they went, like his twinkling eyes lit up the whole world. Even when he was miserable, his eyes would shed a sort of light that you would only find in about one out of every billion people. Brightening the darkest, gloomiest streets, making the world merry with laughter... it made me wonder if he was possibly related to God.  
  
It was exceedingly alluring, too. That light had landed on me for only about a split second, and I had fallen deeply and hopelessly in love. What girl could resist the captivating charm of those enchanting eyes that glimmered with endless radiance? Or perhaps it was just me who saw this so- called light, maybe because we were meant to be together.  
  
Sounding poetic again. Another aspect of love, or so says the Guide to Love Book. But how much did they truly know about love, a word so powerful it had no alternate synonym? There's not a page in there that even the slightest bit mentions seeing light-shedding eyes.  
  
I was obsessed, wasn't I? So what? Obsessing was completely legal when it came to love. I had such a deep affection for Gordo; that's why he wouldn't get off my mind. And this wasn't necessarily a bad thing. If the word obsessed was needed to describe my love, so be it. I didn't care.  
  
If only he felt the same way about me.  
  
Gordo, being *Gordo* and all, wasn't at all like most 24-year-olds. He never went out with a girl he thought he had no future with. And if she even did the slightest thing wrong, he'd dump her. People would say he was picky, but I prefer to say he's just trying to bottle perfection, or at least, find it first. He could be a little naïve at times, not knowing that perfection, a serious Gordo-worshipper was right at his fingertips, but who wasn't?  
  
He hadn't changed much since Jr. High. Still a bold, strong, brave, can't- boss-me-around attitude. The tough guy act. 'I don't care what you think about me.' That's what I loved about him. He was a softie at heart, but couldn't admit it. He was really a shy, cute, little boy who needed someone in his life to control his ego every now and then. And so there I was, buttoning his buttons when he needed it, helping him tie his shoes... I was a second mother to him. The helpful friend.  
  
Friend.  
  
I have grown to hate that word.  
  
"We're just friends." 'I think of you as just a friend." "You're a great friend." "I'd rather have you as a friend than a girlfriend." Not that he had said all of these things, but if I fessed up, he probably would.  
  
He had kissed me many times before, no lie. On the lips, not the hand, on the cheek... whatever. He had done it all. But in a friend-like way. Except for the lip-kiss. That was a long time ago, and I hardly remembered it, but it was a blissful moment, I'll tell you that. The other two... he kissed me on the hand (it was fake, I must add) when we went to the Renaissance Fair (as FRIENDS). He kissed me on the cheek or forehead every now and then as a hello or goodbye or congratulations or something.  
  
But I didn't want him for his kissing. I didn't care if we got together and didn't kiss a single time. It didn't matter. As long as we were together. And not best-friends-together, I mean, couple-together. But the wretched thing was that we weren't couple-together. We would never be couple- together.  
  
Unless I told him.  
  
I had gathered up the courage to tell him several times, but never really had done it. I went up to him and started stuttering. How *romantic*. No, really, I hadn't talked to him in over a week just because I was too afraid. But every day I thought; 'What is there to lose? If he doesn't love me, then great... if he does, than GREAT.'  
  
But then I wondered if he'd be scared of me. I would, if someone who was my best friend came up to me and told me they loved me. But then again, Gordo was different from me. Maybe he wouldn't care. Maybe he loved me too... maybe.  
  
Maybe some of the light from his eyes would shine on me.  
  
I wanted to know more about him. The more I loved him, the less I felt I knew about him. I wanted to know his every thought, his every action, everything about him imprinted into my mind like a newspaper headline. I wanted to be part of David Gordon. I wanted to be able to touch his hair without a hint self-consciousness, to be able to kiss him as if it were second nature.  
  
He was the one for me.  
  
If only his eyes would land on me, just once. Not Linda or Charlene or Kayla, but me, Lizzie McGuire. It seems as if he spread light everywhere in the universe, except for this one corner of his heart, the part that told him how much I loved him. The part that was filled with realization. No light was there, and no light was on me. I felt like a backup singer, the guitar player in a band. The spotlight is on the lead singer, and you're just there, lurking in the shadows, wondering if anyone even notices you're there.  
  
I prayed every night, wished on every shooting star I saw, every birthday candle I blew out, that maybe one day, ONE DAY, I'd be that lead singer in the band, where Gordo loved me, where everyone knew who I was, where the spotlight was right on me. 


	2. One Legged Pigeon

..:One-Legged Pigeon:..  
  
A/N: Have you noticed that the chapter titles so far have to do with little similes and metaphors along the course of the chapter? I didn't mean for it be like that, but it seems cool.  
  
Guess what? I'm going to try to get some of my work published. Isn't that awesome!? Only, I have not much of an idea how to, so if anyone, ANYONE, even has the slightest idea, please feel free to e-mail me at lost_cause45@hotmail.com or s_mittal12@yahoo.com. I love hearing from you all, and I'm really serious about this. I might get Dakota Sunshine published.  
  
Anyone watch American Idol here? Just wondering because I do... Go Diana!!! Go George!!!  
  
***  
  
Lizzie's POV  
  
"Wanna go see a movie or something?" Gordo asked, sipping his cappuccino.  
  
I didn't scream 'oh my god!'. I didn't get up and start dancing. I didn't even smile. He wasn't asking me out, I knew that for sure. How? Miranda and Larry were sitting right there, for one. He was asking all of us. Two, Gordo had a half-girlfriend, Steph the slut.  
  
Larry shrugged. "Um... sure... what do you want to see?"  
  
"Something romantic!" Miranda exclaimed eagerly.  
  
This time I smiled. The more romantic, the better. All that flirting, all that romantic tension... it was the perfect atmosphere to make a little tiny move on Gordo. If I sat next to him. Which I probably would, since Miranda would be practically in Larry's lap.  
  
Gordo groaned. "No! No chick flicks. I need something funny."  
  
"Blood and gore." Larry suggested.  
  
"We saw that gross movie last week!" Miranda frowned. "It's me and Lizzie's time to pick. Liz, what do you want?"  
  
I shrugged.  
  
I preferred we see a gushy chick flick, but it seemed like my opinion wasn't going to matter much, no matter what I said. And anyway, it's not like Gordo was asking me out, so I didn't care.  
  
"Okay. Romantic comedy it is!" Miranda smiled. "How about Tears of Joy?"  
  
I shrugged, and so did everyone else.  
  
I caught Gordo's eye and smiled discreetly to myself.  
  
***  
  
"So, how's Steph?" I asked, carrying my popcorn into the theater. Making a casual conversation. The perfect way to talk a lot about something and yet you're positive he doesn't know that you're deeply crushing on him. Especially if you talk about his girlfriend.  
  
"Fine... but I don't think she considers us as a couple." He said, looking a little hurt. I closed my eyes for a few seconds, not bearing the fact that he was in pain. "What makes you think that?" I said in a way so it looked like pure curiosity.  
  
"I—I saw.. well... I don't think I should tell you." He frowned, taking a seat in the back row of the movie theater, our usual spot.  
  
"Gordo, aren't I your best friend?" I whispered as I sat down next to him, cheering myself on.  
  
"Yeah..."  
  
"You can tell me anything. Especially stuff about girls, because I can help." I smiled at him, thrilled that we were having such a deep conversation.  
  
"Steph's not a *girl*, Lizzie, she's a *woman*."  
  
I could've slapped him right then and there. A *woman*, he says? A WOMAN!? Was I not 'woman' enough for him? Just because she dressed in skimpy clothes and was a perfect 100 pounds did NOT make her a woman! I was a woman. I was conservative, nice, loving. And he says I'm not a woman? But STEPH is?  
  
I gritted my teeth, glad that the lights were down so he couldn't see. "Oh, sorry, my bad." I rolled my eyes sarcastically. "A woman. Stephanie is a woman."  
  
"What's your problem?" He asked.  
  
I sighed. He was making this so difficult! "Look, Gordo, what's wrong?"  
  
He looked down at the spilled popcorn at his feet. "She was with another guy."  
  
I smiled to myself. This was a dream come true! "Do you know this for a fact?" I asked, more for my intention than his.  
  
"Yeah, I saw her making out with him a few days ago... it's no big deal." He shrugged, and I rolled my eyes. Gordo was probably the worst faker in the history of the universe. It was definitely a big deal; you could tell that by just looking at his insecure posture and depressed expression. His eyes, although I couldn't see as well in the dim light, were clouded over like the sun in a storm, and there was nothing more I wanted at that moment than to kiss him.  
  
"I'm sorry." I whispered, scooting closer to him, wondering if this was a significant 'love signal'.  
  
"You don't have to be." He said, looking so sincere I almost melted. "It's not your fault... It doesn't matter anyway."  
  
"Sorry I brought it up, then." I looked him right in the eye. His eyes were the key to his thoughts, his soul. A complete open house. I swear, if you would just look into his eyes for five short minutes, you could tell what he was thinking, wishing, regretting... And right now they were saying that he hadn't been more hurt in years.  
  
He smiled faintly, and his eyes glimmered, the sun peeking through the clouds. "You're a good person, Lizzie."  
  
I blushed, thanking god that it was too dark to see it. "Not really." I beamed modestly.  
  
"Oh, shut up."  
  
There it was. That romantic tension. I had been waiting for this, the seems- like-never-ending silence that was the cause of many tender and passionate moments between people. I was just frozen, not even a giggle, and he was just looking at me for no apparent reason.  
  
KISS HIM!  
  
A flashing neon sign was putting my mind in agonizing pain. People protesting, parading around my head carrying signs of KISS HIM, YOU FOOL! It was nearly driving me to a point of insanity. I had to kiss him. It was the right moment. He had sort of unofficially broken up with his girlfriend, and here he was, pouring out his soul (or at least a minor synonym of that), and the perfect moment, a glint of silence, made it absolutely magical.  
  
And so I gathered up my guts, licked my teeth, and began, at a rate that it was practically unnoticeable, to lean forward. Turtle-speed. He seemed to have overlooked it and was still kind of staring at me, which made me wonder if he had ever brooded over my eyes. And after about two and one- tenth inches, I stopped. This was a mistake.  
  
'No, not a mistake.' I thought. 'This is cowardliness.' I was so petrified, so horrified that I couldn't go on. No wonder people like Steph got guys they wanted. They had the self-confidence and the major ego to go with it. They were bold and daring, unlike me, Lizzie McGuire, the one-legged pigeon, too frightened to hop across a busy intersection. The one-winged pigeon that was so spineless, it didn't even have enough courage to fly.  
  
I was a coward.  
  
SCAREDY-CAT, SCAREDY-CAT! The people chanted, waving their signs higher.  
  
I sighed lightly and sunk back into my chair, breaking the romantic tension like a twig. And this was all in a matter of seconds.  
  
He turned away as the previews ended and the lights dimmed to a point of pitch-black darkness.  
  
I mentally smacked myself in the head. I should've kissed him! What on earth was I thinking!? It was my one chance, maybe even my last one, to express my feelings for him, and I had just turned around and avoided it?  
  
Stupid one-legged pigeon.  
  
I sat back firmly, almost destroying my chair, furious with myself. And just as I was thinking that life couldn't possibly get any worse than this, it does. Here came Steph the slut, marching down the isle, showing off her perfect body and her strip-club clothes in her perfect catwalk with her large butt which I would've liked to kick right then.  
  
"Hey, sweetie." She drawled in a sickeningly-sweet tone which would've made me throw up right at her perfectly-fitting, six-inch-high Gucci leather high heels. She winked at Gordo, kissed his cheek, and sat down on the other side of him, although it seemed like she was mostly sitting *on* him.  
  
I clenched my fists. How dare she show up at *my* romance chance and seduce *my* man? Gordo was mine. I knew that, she knew that, and he... he'd know that soon enough. And, even after knowing this, evil little Stephanie Malloy brushes her lips across his and trails her Malibu Barbie manicured nail across his cheek. What really ticks me off though, isn't the fact that she was hitting on him. No. It was that he was falling for it, buying the crap she was selling, looking at her all googly-eyed and star-struck like she was some kind of goddess.  
  
He blinked. "Hey... Steph."  
  
She grinned, showing off her smile that she probably worked on for years. "I know you're wondering why I'm not with Jason anymore, and that's because I found out he was a real jerk. And so, I remembered you, baby." She kissed him lightly and I fumed. "I love you."  
  
I almost snorted. Did this little miss thing think she actually knew what love *was*? Love was not a sentence. It was a feeling. A genuine feeling, which I had for Gordo. That was love. Love. Ha. I bet she had never been in real love before. Just fake, artificial feelings for shoulder-to-lean-on guys who just melted at the sight of her. That was love in her book.  
  
Surely Gordo wouldn't fall for this.  
  
He kissed her back. "I love you too." And before I knew it, they were making out like lovesick teenagers.  
  
I burned. He was KISSING her! Sticking his tongue in her mouth! Messing around with her hair! They were kissing as if they hadn't seen each other in centuries. And as my thoughts tumbled on, about how Gordo could be so incredibly dumb, I felt a little microscopic tear in my eye. It grew bigger and bigger until it was too big for my eye sockets to carry, so it dripped down my cheek and over my mouth and off my chin and landed in my lap.  
  
I was crying.  
  
I tried to stop it—I really did—but the tears kept on coming. It just wasn't *fair*. How could someone so intelligent, so generous, so KIND, love someone like Steph? Why? God hated me. Gordo hated me. Everyone hated me. I couldn't be loved; I wasn't worthy of love.  
  
I hastily got up from my seat and scurried out the door, leaving the two lovers to mingle. I didn't care. I forced myself to not care. So what if they got married, had children, died together? So what? Everything was Gordo's choice, and Gordo's choice was Steph, not the one-legged pigeon who can't even stick up for herself.  
  
I walked slowly out the door of the theater, and soon I was wallowing in self-pity, wandering in the rain, not sure, not *caring* where I was headed. I needed to get away. Away from it all, Steph and Gordo and love and my stupid feelings.  
  
Why did I have to go and fall for Gordo? He had a girlfriend. He had a life. But he was so... perfect. Not a flaw in his soul. He was the kind of person that made you glad you were still alive to be with him. He cared about everyone and everything. No wonder so many girls liked him.  
  
No wonder I had fallen in love with him.  
  
I shivered as I lay down in the grass on the side of the road, practically in the middle of nowhere. There were cars speeding past on the highway, looking at me like I were on the verge of committing suicide. Well, that's what it felt like anyway. Lying in the grass, soaking to death with rain and mud seeping through my clothes and turning my flesh stone-cold, wishing I were dead. That was pretty much suicidal.  
  
I looked up and saw gray clouds, millions of them, milling around like ants on an ant farm, covering up the sunlight. Except for one spot. That spot was cloud free, and although it was so small, nearly microscopic, I saw it and whispered like a child holding a star:  
  
"I wish I was more like Steph."  
  
I thought about my statement, and decided to change it.  
  
"Well, no, not like Steph, but pretty. Popular. Famous. Rich. Someone Gordo would fall for. And I wish Gordo was happy. Yeah, that's what I wish for. Gordo should be happy. And so should I." I smiled after justifying what I wanted. "Do you hear me, God?"  
  
A bolt of lightening symbolized his response.  
  
I sighed and closed my eyes, letting the rain beat harder down on me. "Like that's ever going to happen."  
  
A/N: BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR.... Review please! ^_^ 


	3. Fourth Dimension

**..:Fourth Dimension:..**  
  
A/N: OMG, 13 Going On 30 looks so GOOD!!! But no, I've made a commitment, and I'm not going to see it until I'm done with this. Oh, have you guys read The Prophecy of the Stones by Flavia Bujor (the English version, not the French one)? It's really good! It was written by a fifteen-year-old, if you can believe that! I hardly can.  
  
Be on the lookout for my new L/G one-shot... it's called The Lost One and it's going to be pretty sad, but I'm just going to post it soon (week-ish), so look for it!  
  
---  
  
I didn't remember getting home. I didn't remember lying down. I didn't remember falling asleep. And yet, I woke up and the sun was shining, and my body wasn't sprawled on Interstate 52.  
  
My bed felt different. Not in a bad way, but it didn't seem like the usual queen sized mattress I had dozed on in the last few years. No, it seemed bigger. Bouncier. Fluffier. And the pillows were more regal. And my pajamas seemed to feel different. It wasn't my regular cotton outfit, but silk pajamas and a silk top.  
  
Had I even come home the day before? If I had, how come I didn't recall a single thing that happened? Had I taken a shower? Did I cry myself to sleep? Had Gordo come out of the theater to apologize?  
  
That's when I opened my eyes.  
  
My instincts were right. It wasn't my regular bed, or my regular pillows, or my regular pajamas. The sheet was different, the quilt was different (there was a canopy!). The room was different. I was bewildered. Where on earth was I? Had an SUV ran me over and I was in the hospital? If so, this was some nice hospital.  
  
I stepped out of bed and looked around. There were many pictures of people whom I couldn't identify, plus a wooden bookshelf that smelled of oak, and a few odd-looking lamps and other objects that seemed like modern art rather than home furnishings. I felt as if I were in another dimension. I walked toward the mirror perched rather delicately on the black-and-silver dresser and stopped along the way to curiously study the friendly but strange atmosphere around me.  
  
I studied the photographs. They all were pictures of people smiling quite artificially, in small groups of five or six, or just sometimes two or three. They all contained a nice-looking woman wearing brightly-colored, festive clothing, an expensive looking hairstyle, and a very classy expression. That's whose room I was in, most likely. But why? Why wasn't I in my own apartment and my own room with my own photos of Miranda and Larry and Gordo and my family? Had a stranger found me and kindly brought me home?  
  
I stopped gazing at the framed pictures and continued on my way to the dresser. I probably looked terrible. My hair was probably all in an unruly mess and muddy, not to mention my skin. Maybe I could straighten everything out and look acceptable, and then maybe find that woman in the pictures, the homeowner. I glanced at myself and did I double take.  
  
And when I stared closely at my reflection in the mirror for the second time, I gasped, almost choking myself.  
  
"I'm a Barbie!" I screeched, leaning closer.  
  
I truly was. A slender, beautiful woman was looking back at me through the mirror. I was way prettier than Steph. I raised my hand and waved it in front of the mirror to make sure it was really my reflection and not someone else, and then screamed again.  
  
My blond hair was perfectly cut into a layered style, just a few inches past my shoulders, shimmering with natural-looking highlights and an unbeatable shine. My eyes were still blue, but a deeper blue, a clearer blue. I was skinner than I had been the day before. I looked closer it seemed as if I had a nose job and a boob job and a who-knows-what job everywhere. I was perfect. A complete Barbie clone.  
  
I touched my zit-free cheek and almost fainted.  
  
I was beautiful.  
  
I glanced down at the dresser and saw a magazine. Not too surprisingly, it had me on the cover, with large, vibrant letters screaming "Elle McGuire reveals her DEEPEST secrets!". I flipped to the page it said, and started reading.  
  
_Q. How does it feel to be crowned Miss America?  
  
Elle: Oh, it's wonderful! I never even thought I'd be nominated, but one day my manager called me up and said "You're competing for Miss California. If you make it, you'll be Miss America!" And everything went from there.  
  
Q. It is stressful to work so much?  
  
Elle: All of that modeling and singing and acting I've done isn't for the money. I love it! And it can get exhausting sometimes, but then I remember, this is my DREAM. It's fun! I love it! The recording studio, the movie sets, the photo shoots... it's all so glamorous!  
  
Q. Were you born a star, or did it take some work?  
  
Elle: Well, yeah, before I was just a normal kid, but after I graduated from college, I decided I wanted to chase my dreams and I did so. I've made so many new friends and so many new habits along the way!  
  
Q. How exciting is it to be American heartthrob Parker Mason's girlfriend?  
  
Elle: It's awesome! He's so sweet, and he doesn't treat me like I'm royalty just because I'm famous. I love you, Parker!  
  
Q. We heard he's going to propose soon! Is this true?  
  
Elle: I don't know... I'll just have to wait!  
_  
I paused for a second. Was this really happening? Was I dreaming? Parker Mason? Who was that, anyway? Well, supposedly my boyfriend... my soon-to-be- fiancé, according to the magazine... but what about Gordo? And how did Lizzie become Elle? Elle-izabeth? That's odd.  
  
This was most definitely a dream.  
  
I was about to keep reading to find out more about me, but then my cellphone, which was on top of the dresser, started ringing. I hesitated to pick it up. I mean, I didn't know who was going to be on the line.  
  
"Hey." I almost whispered, still recovering from the shock of my overnight transformation.  
  
"Hey, honey, it's me." A male voice said. "How's my Miss America?"  
  
Me? Me who? Well he had called me honey, so it was probably...  
  
"P—Parker?" I asked, feeling like an idiot.  
  
"Yeah." He said. "Are you busy tomorrow?"  
  
I made a face. How should I know? "Kinda." I replied, just in case I was. I'd have to go look for my calendar.  
  
"Oh, well, I heard from Jordan that he was going to ask you to schedule a photo shoot tomorrow."  
  
"A photo shoot for what?" I asked, curious.  
  
"Playboy magazine."  
  
My eyes widened. Was he kidding? "Well, tell him no!" I exclaimed, shocked. I had no idea I did men's magazines!  
  
"Why?" He seemed bewildered. "It's just one photo shoot."  
  
"Yeah, just one for _now_." I scoffed. "But before you know it, it'll be two, and then three and soon enough everyone's going to be like 'Elle McGuire? Sorry, I didn't recognize you with your clothes on.'"  
  
He chuckled. "Elle, honey, it's just one."  
  
"No." I said firmly. "Tell him no." I hung up abruptly and sighed, falling into the bed. What in heaven's name was going on here? I was Lizzie... just Lizzie McGuire, recent college graduate, working as a co-secretary for Austin Redwall (professor), boyfriendless yet crushing, and now, magically, I had transformed into Elle McGuire, Miss America, movie star, singer, engaged to some parallel universe Brad Pitt-like hottie. Was this a dream? It certainly seemed real enough, and I kicked myself to prove my point.  
  
Maybe I had a bad case of amnesia, and my whole life had just been a rather long dream I had conjured up while I was lying in bed, unconscious for weeks. That seemed pretty far-fetched, on account of I had absolutely no idea what or who anything was. Maybe I had gotten plastic surgery while I was on the side of the highway and someone rescued me and Elle McGuire was some other person, like a cousin. Yeah, that seemed believable. Elle was the long-lost cousin who rescued me from the highway, performed plastic surgery on me to change my ugly attributes so I looked exactly like her and Parker had thought I was her and—and... okay, so maybe that wasn't so believable.  
  
I bit my lip, got up, and threw open my (her?) closet. I grinned in satisfaction. This Elle McGuire had good taste, even if she didn't fully exist. If this was a dream, it was pretty cool. A hot boyfriend (although I had never seen him, so I wasn't one to judge), an awesome job, the hottest wardrobe, and to top it all off, a having-it-all-lifestyle that was better than any amount of free shopping sprees at the mall.  
  
I ran my hands over clothes from brands I couldn't believe I owned, examined several pairs of strappy sandals and swanky high-heels that looked as if they were about to fall apart at any second. Silks and furs, dresses and skirts, sweaters and blouses, purses and shoes, I had it all. In every sort of color imaginable.  
  
My accessory table was amazing, full of not all that costume jewelry, fake- sterling silver, and dress-up charms that were as real as talking ducks, but gold and white gold, silver and bronze, diamonds and sapphires, emeralds and rubies. It wasn't as fancy as the Queen of England's loot, but so amazing indeed. I tried on a pair of dangly diamond earrings and a necklace and bracelet to match, and admired myself for several minutes before I realized that this expensive and heart-stopping jewelry was strewn all over the place, as if it had no value. I treated my metal charm bracelet better. Wow, did these rich people have it good or what!?  
  
I noticed several rings of diamond and gold that were tucked away safely in little velvet boxes, and couldn't resist the urge to take a quick peek at them. They were technically mine, after all. I shouldn't be feeling guilty about touching my own jewelry, that was as stupid as feeling bad while eating your own food.  
  
I smiled to myself and left the room, diamonds still glinting off the walls and onto my pajamas, ready to find that schedule book thing these sort of people had. Or maybe it was on her palm pilot or computer or something. Who knew, which this kind of life, it could be on the microwave for all I knew.  
  
---  
  
I found the schedule. Turns out I was pretty busy today, with a photo shoot at eleven and lunch with actress Leona Jenkins, who was supposed to be some big A-list star. After that was filming a commercial for NBC at three, and calling in on TRL for a fan-chat on the phone. Then dinner with Parker. God, how was I going to do this?  
  
Knowing how models ate, I decided to scarf down a big breakfast so I didn't humiliate myself by ordering a huge meal instead of a dry, calorie-free, carb-free, fat-free salad with no olives or tomatoes or dressing or even probably salt.  
  
I searched the refrigerator for anything close to Tropicana orange juice (or whatever they rich and famous drank) and some frozen waffles. Nothing. I found lettuce, cucumbers, onions, soybean milk... the works. Completely organic, completely healthy, completely boring. The freezer held some frozen blueberries which I gobbled up in a second, and lonely old piece of pie, which I could tell she was debating whether to eat or not. I ate that too. There were some frozen peas, but I ditched that and went straight to the cupboards, hoping she had some cereal or pancake mix or even flavored oatmeal, but nothing. Some tea bags and not even a grain of sugar.  
  
I was about to give up and order a dozen Krispy Kreme donuts or so when I spotted a little cupboard under the sink, next to the trash can, that was labeled "emergency food". I grinned mischieviously and viciously tore open the cupboard, like a hungry dog unfed for weeks. And there lie heaven to a girl whose best friends had become Ben and Jerry, a sanctuary of chocolate, and ode to sugar, caffeine, carbs, and fat, boxes of cakes and donuts and melted ice cream (Well, Elle McGuire was supposedly dumb. Who else would put ice cream in a cupboard?) and cans of whipped cream and chips, so much oil and butter and rich chocolate and frosting.  
  
I blinked and finished half of the stash off in about twenty minutes. Gordo and I had days like these, especially now that I was on a little something of a diet, every time I lost three pounds, we would go out and buy hundreds of bad-for-you things and have a little eating festival, to celebrate my weight loss. I usually ended up gaining it all back, but it was so much fun. Especially with Gordo there, the guy who doesn't inch away from your farts (I had too many jelly beans...), laughs at every burp, and pays for all of the food. He'd urge me to eat when I started feeling remorseful, reminding me to forget stupid diets and live for a while, even if it resulted in another four-week session of eating less and exercising more.  
  
And there I was, surrounded by boxes of Oreos and pudding cakes, cans of frosting and chocolate chips, practically in a junk-food eater's paradise, when a tear stung my eye. I had known this was too good to last, there had been something missing, and that was a Gordo to share it all with. What good was enjoying the big bed or trying on the slinky clothes or even eating without him? If only he's see me now... a big wide-brimmed hat on my head, a feathered boa tied gracefully around myself, big diamonds shimmering away in the sunlight, pigging out on snack foods. He'd laugh his head off, start stuffing chips into my mouth and we'd both end up on the floor in fits of uncontrollable laughter and then I'd tumble on top of him and he'd kiss me ever so lightly...  
  
"Keep dreaming," I scoffed, and started to stuff all of the non-empty boxes into the cupboard while throwing the empty ones away. I had a photo shoot to get to, there was no way I was going to cry about Gordo now. I had to take a shower, and dress up, and... I blinked again. I picked up my phone and dialed the number listed for the photo shoot people.  
  
"So sorry." I said elegantly. "I'm... busy today."  
  
I made another appointment for a week later and got off the phone, smiling. It was amazing what kind of powers a super-diva had.  
  
I looked eagerly at the bathroom. I had the whole morning clear for pampering. Bubble-bath, here I come!  
  
A/N: Sorry it took so long. No excuse, once again, just plain laziness. And so sorry it wasn't very L/G, if so, then just barely, but she needed to get used to her environment, right? Next chapter will be more L/G-ish, more crying and stuff. Review if the server works. If not, then make it. Love you all!  
  
xoxo,  
  
PersonY2K 


	4. Lost in Time

**..:Lost in Time:..**  
  
A/N: I'm sorry to say that you will not see Gordo until chapter six. But it'll be L/G nonetheless... maybe I'll write something from Gordo's POV. But really, it's supposed to be a Lizzie-focused story, you know, following her dreams of finding Gordo... I should've named it that. Finding Gordo, like Finding Nemo except Gordo was her crushee, not her son. I like the title Love and Life better. It's very cliché-y and I really wanted to use it for something, but I sincerely could've though of something more creative, you know, like Elle McGuire's Secret Love (as if it were on a magazine...?) or something... different. But Love and Life sounds good to me. by the way, this is going to be a short chapter.  
  
Wow, I talk a lot.  
  
I'm touched that so many of you reviewed. Really. I told you that reviews hurry the chapters to come. I mean, if it weren't for you guys, I wouldn't have posted a chappie until, like, after school starts on the 16th... boo to that, too. School means no more free time. In fact, I'm sort of scared, thanks to the eight different periods I have and a real locker with a combination (not those cheapo 'trainer lockers' in sixth grade), and I have to get a student ID so I can ride the Citybus. The Citybus, for pete's sake! I will ride the same bus that my mother rides to get to her college classes!!! Triple eek! But at least I'm not moving. I feel so sorry for those kids who are leaving their friends behind at other schools to move on to the torture chamber known as school.  
  
I just re-read a few of my older stories. Romeo and Juliet, After Rome, The Lizzie McGuire Movie, and I realized how much I've grown as a writer in just a year. It amazes me. I really think if I keep going at this rate, there's no telling what I'll be able to write when I'm 17.   
  
Do you want to see my favorite picture of Hilary? It's in Seventeen magazine, August 2004 issue, on page 159. God, that picture always puts me in a good mood, I don't know why. Oh, and btw, I'm going Hilary's concert on the 4th!!!! YAY!!!!  
  
Fly is the coolest song! Hilary sings it so well! Fly/ Open up the part of you/ That wants to hide away/ You can shine/ Forget about the reasons/ Why you can't in life/ And start to try/ Cause it's your time/ Time to fly...!

OMG 13 Going On 30 is coming out on DVD. I really want to see it and my mom's all like, "okay, I'll go rent it", but I said no because I've got to finish this! Look how loyal I am!   
  
Onto the story, then...  
  
---

Gordo smiled at me, and even though I was crying, I smiled back meekly, and collapsed backward onto his shoulder, almost knocking the wind out of him. "I love you!" I exclaimed, and he smiled furtively.  
  
"I knew that."  
  
He pulled my hair behind my shoulders into an imaginary ponytail and kissed my cheek loudly, making unnecessary kissing noises. I laughed at the feeling of my cheek being sucked fiercely and he wiped away my tears with his shirt sleeve. "Now, don't ever cry again," he demanded, giving me another cheek-sucking kiss. I giggled loudly enough for it to be mistaken as a hiccup and turned around to give him a soft kiss on the lips. Gordo smiled and we talked for hours, about everything from love to grocery stores.  
  
That was a nice fantasy.  
  
I sat in the bathtub, the bubbles almost overflowing, fantasizing once again about Gordo and me. The truth was that I had talked to Gordo about grocery stores and love, but not in the way I'd have liked to. We'd talk about love, but not love for each other. We'd talk about the ideal boyfriend or girlfriend, depending on who was talking. We'd make fun of each other and wonder together about when true love would find us...  
  
I wiped some foam off my cheek, and imagined how it would feel when Gordo would kiss it. I thought of how he'd feel when I told him... speaking of which, how would I tell him now? I was Elle McGuire. My whole history had changed. Perhaps maybe I never even knew Gordo. Maybe he was just another one of those guys who would swoon at the sight of me...  
  
I dropped the bar of soap and it clunked on the floor of the tub. I was a famous model! Of course! Gordo would give anything to hang out with me! I was ELLE. I could charm my way to him; it would be easy. I'd find him, tell him how I thought he was amazing and then kiss him. No guy on the face of the earth would turn down a supermodel, even super-unshallow Gordo. He'd spring at the chance to even look at a model, let alone date one. This was perfect... then I'd marry him and we'd live happily ever after!  
  
I quickly bounced out of the tub, dried myself off, got hastily dressed in the most lunch-worthy clothes I could find (who knew what famous people wore to lunches with other famous people?), and dashed out the door. I was definitely in a good mood now. Even if this Leona Jenkins was complete brat, it didn't matter. Nothing could bring my spirits down now. I planned on cutting the lunch short with some "urgent" business that I just "happened to forget", then spend the few hours I had between then and the NBC commercial searching the internet and phone book and whatever for any sign of Gordo.  
  
I found my car parked in a fancy garage and grinned. A Ferrari, huh? I had good taste. I drove into LA and searched desperately for the restaurant. The map I had wasn't completely accurate, and I got lost several times. When I finally did find Francesco's Garden, I was fifteen minutes late. I scurried in and looked around for any sign of a model-like woman. No suck luck. They all were perfect, with their flawless skins to their tiny figures and the skimpy clothes on them. One reminded me painfully of Steph.  
  
"Elle!" I heard an exasperated voice exclaim from behind me. "You're late."  
  
I turned around, and stood before me was a lady in her mid-forties. I had been to LA several times, and all the plastic-surgified "I want to look thirty" women had the weirdest faces. It was obvious that they had gotten face lifts. But this Leona lady... she did the plastic surgery thing right. She looked thirty enough to me, and the only throwback were little gray hairs on her scalp.  
  
"Leona. Hi." I smiled and sat down, remembering to cross my knees. "So sorry... I got stuck in traffic." I waved my hand carelessly. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting."  
  
"Oh, not too long." She smiled. "So, what do you think?"  
  
What did I think? What kind of peculiar question was that? What did I think about what? "What?" I asked innocently, as if I knew what she was talking about.  
  
Leona looked at me sideways. "What do you think?"  
  
"About what?" I bit my lip. Hopefully I didn't look like too big of a dumb idiot.  
  
"Via Records, of course!" She raised an eyebrow. "Honestly, Elle, you can be such a blonde sometimes."  
  
I was going to point out that she too was blonde, but suppressed my anger. "What about Via Records?" I said plainly, hoping she thought I was playing a little joke on her, and not that I was genuinely clueless.  
  
"Elle, what is wrong with you? You're such a ditz lately..." Leona scoffed. "I meant, are you going to switch from LeStar to Via?"  
  
LeStar? Via? Those two names meant absolutely nothing to me. I had figured this was a dream, but in dreams I always knew what everyone was talking about. So why did I not get this LeStar/Via business?  
  
"Um... you're from Via, right?" I stuttered, praying that she was.  
  
"I'm your producer! How the heck could be from Via? You're losing it!" She rolled her eyes.  
  
Thank goodness the waitress appeared then. I was dying here.  
  
"Drinks?" she asked pleasantly.  
  
Leona looked at me meaningfully. Great, she was making me go first.  
  
"I'll have a raspberry ice tea." I told the waitress, wishing that this wasn't the wrong choice again.  
  
"Water, please, " Leona said politely. "No ice."  
  
The waitress scribbled it down and scampered away.  
  
I decided to sort out what was happening here. Leona was my music producer, from LeStar Records. Some people wanted me to switch from LeStar to Via Records, which I knew nothing about. I decided that the safest route through this was to ask her opinion.  
  
"What do you think I should do?"  
  
Leona picked up a menu. "Stay with LeStar, of course."  
  
"Then I'll do that." I shrugged. "No big deal."  
  
"But the Via people..." She started. "They're offering—"  
  
I raised my eyebrows. "I don't care about what the Via people are offering, I want to stay with LeStar." I announced with an important tone. " Thank you for the splendid lunch, we should do this more often. Now, I have business to attend to. I'm very busy today, so please excuse me." I slapped down a ten dollar bill and stormed out of the restaurant as graciously as possible, leaving little Miss Leona Jenkins with her jaw dropped.  
  
I had handled that pretty well, considering. A little primadonna-ish, but I was a diva. I was supposed to be a brat. Gordo would be proud; he loved it when I stood up to people. I smiled slyly to myself as I drove away. Now, for some real lunch, and some serious Gordo-hunting.  
  
I struck me as I pulled in my driveway half an hour later that this was no longer just a dream. It was reality, and a reality that had happened on account of the wish I had made last night. I was supposed to do something, get something accomplished, or else God wouldn't have granted my wish. And that something was to find Gordo, confess my undying love, and make him fall deeply in love with me. How long it would take, I didn't know.  
  
But I had to try.  
  
---  
  
I settled down with some frozen peas and cucumbers for lunch. It was the best I could find. Not even a single slice of bread resided in Elle's fridge. It was all vegetables and more vegetable. The only fruit in there were lemons, and I hated lemons. (Oh, and tomatoes, but I don't want to get into that whole tomato fruit/vegetable thing) How did this woman live?  
  
I pulled out the enormous phonebook and sat down at the kitchen island with it, a pen, and food. I flipped to the 'G' section. If I was going to find Gordo, I'd have to be serious and rational. 'Ga'... I flipped a few pages ahead. 'Gl', 'Go'... I scanned the next few pages with lightening speed. 'Gor'... 'Gord'... Gordon! There it was!  
  
152 Gordons. Why couldn't Gordo's last name be Zylaclowski or something?  
  
I got out a highlighter and highlighted the ones that said D. Gordon. 29. I could call twenty-nine people. No problem. No, where was the phone...? I examined my surrounding area to find a telephone, and spotted one laying on a coffee table in the next room.  
  
I got up and was about to pick it up when I noticed a photo album with the silver engraving "Childhood Memories" perched nicely next to it. I collapsed onto the nearest couch, album in hand, and open it to the first page. I could've cried, but that would've seemed too sentimental.  
  
The first picture of me as a baby, in the hospital. The next one was me with my mom and dad and another young-looking couple with their baby. I realized after a long moment that they must have been Gordo's parents, and the little bundle of blankets that rested in their hands must've been baby Gordo. I stroked the picture carefully, and didn't turn the page until the sound of a cuckoo clock startled me.  
  
The next three pages was filled with my baby pictures, from one day to one year. Me trying to walk, me taking a bath, me eating sand at the beach, and me just posing in random places. I looked at the pictures amusedly. I'd seen a few of these pictures before, back when I used to be me, not super- hot Elle McGuire, but now I figured that we must've had the same childhood.  
  
On the fourth page was a picture of me and Gordo, playing in a field of sunflowers. I felt a wet tears start to form in my eye when I saw his curly little head and his cute little nose. In one picture he had plucked a flower out and was giving to me, which cracked me up because the flower was much taller than I was.  
  
A few pages later, I was three or four. My mom had taken a picture of Gordo and me running around in the backyard, probably playing a game of tag. Now joining us was a little black-headed girl, which with I a smile I identified as Miranda. A few pictures down, I found us collapsed all in a heap, tired after a long days playing. My eyes fell upon a picture where Gordo was kissing me on the cheek after I gave him a bag of candy. I was blushing madly, but he looked perfectly content. The tears spilled over at the sight of that. Why couldn't we be like this now?  
  
Why did Gordo have to kiss me back then, when I could barely remember it? Why not now, when all I wanted was to be his girlfriend, his soul mate, his everything? How come he loved me more then, and not now?  
  
Heartbroken, I looked through the rest of the album. Gordo, me, Miranda, and my family were everywhere. Amusement parks, at home, in the kitchen, we were always there. Together. It amazed me that after all that we shared back when we were ten and eleven, he still didn't love me. How could he not love me after we had a lemonade stand together, but drank more than we sold? And what about all those times we played "house" and all of the times we plotted to get Matt in trouble? I had been there in his entire childhood, and then... what happened?  
  
The end of the book was in eighth grade, most of the pictures from Rome, and some from barbecues and parties, and my family started vanishing and Gordo and Miranda started showing up more. Coaster Kingdom pictures, the murder mystery party... I gulped, and could barely swallow on account of I was almost chocking. That party had been so amazing. He almost asked me out! He liked me! And I semi-liked him, but I didn't really... I couldn't remember much, but I remembered enough to remember that I knew he liked me.  
  
I slammed the book shut and grabbed the phone. Marching back to my seat, I wondered if he still had miniscule feelings for me. Yes, it was an outrageous thought, but it very well could be true. What was there to hate about me, anyway. I wasn't ugly or anything, and I was fairly nice to everyone. Isn't that all he wanted? What attributes did Steph and Kayla and Charlene have that I didn't? Maybe he did like me, because everyone knew that it was ruthlessly hard for a guy and a girl to be friends without considering another type of relationship. And that's what sparked my feelings. Just thinking about how awkward it would be if my best friend Gordo was my boyfriend, then realizing it wasn't too awkward of an idea after all. It's hard not to have feelings for someone romantically when they're right there, in front of your face. You can't help but spring on the opportunity to pray for something that just might become of your friendship.  
  
I found the first D. Gordon and dialed the number bravely, hoping that I wouldn't chicken out and hang up when he answered. The phone rang twice and then someone picked it up.  
  
"Hello, Danielle here," a female voice said.  
  
I froze. "Uh, hi, is... is... David there?" I stammered, wondering why on earth I was so nervous.  
  
"I think you have the wrong number," the woman said kindly, and I apologized and hung up. I crossed off the first D. Gordon, and dialed the number for the second one.  
  
"H'lo?"  
  
"Can I talk to David please?"  
  
"Yeah, one sec."  
  
I heard a muffled 'It's some girl' and then David was on the phone. My heart was pounding. He could be the one. He could be my Gordo.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
My eyes widened... it sounded like him. "Hi, it's Lizzie. Remember me?" I gulped meekly.  
  
"Lizzie who?"  
  
My heart sank, along with my hope. He couldn't have forgotten me. "Lizzie McGuire." I said, biting my lip.  
  
"I don't know any Lizzie McGuire." And that was the end of that.  
  
Third call. "Hello?"  
  
"Is David there?"  
  
Silence. Then a,  
  
"OH MY GOD! OH MY FREAKIN' GOD! MOM, COME HERE, IT'S ON THE CALLED ID! ELLE MCGUIRE CALLED ME!!!" The girl shrieked, and I hung up before her mom got there and started questioning me about why I was calling her daughter. I had almost forgotten I was famous.  
  
I spent countless minutes calling each and every one of the D. Gordons listen in the Los Angeles area, and at exactly two twenty-nine, I hung up on the last one, furious. None of the twenty-nine D. Gordons had been my D. Gordon. I had called a donut shop, seven girls, eleven college boys, and other weird people, including an old woman who couldn't hear me at all, and none of them were Gordo.  
  
I dressed for my NBC commercial in three minutes flat, and drove away once again from my home, more disappointed than ever. At least when I had been Lizzie, I could find Gordo. Just press number two on speed-dial. Now finding him was becoming near impossible. Maybe things had been easier when I wasn't a sexy superstar. I mean, I had been in this girl's body for eight hours now, and I hadn't even heard Gordo's voice, let alone found him.  
  
A/N: Told you it was going to be short. Or maybe it just feels like it's short. I don't know. Oh, well, I posted right? The next chapter is going to be sort of boring... Lizzie is going to meet her boyfriend Parker and they're going to go to this party where... wow, I almost gave it away.  
  
Until next time,  
  
PersonY2K


	5. Party Animals

**..:Party Animals:..**

A/N: Have you all seen the movie Peter Pan? I would've seen it in theaters, but Cheaper by the Dozen was coming out that same day, so I saw that. I just recently rented it, and completely fell in love with the whole thing. It's not for little kids, it's amazingly magical and funny. Plus Jeremy Sumpter is the only guy who's around my age that's actually cute. (Judie...!) 'double squeals' (Dumb thing won't let me put asterisks anymore, so I have to live with apostrophes.)

This chappie's dedicated to Cazzie, who's one interesting person to talk to! Like sisters! And Mark. Like always. I only see you in Computer Apps, and even then you're flirting with Emily and Ashley. AND THAT IDIOT LAURA! I can not believe you would sink so low as to go out with _her_! 'shivers' Not even an inside joke or two to share... you better watch it, or I'm gonna start liking someone else I have in mind!!! lol, I'd never fall for anyone like I fell for you.

And my wonderful father, who so graciously came with me to the phenomenal concert which was Hilary Duff's! He hates loud music, but came because he's just so great, and without him I couldn't have gone at all!

---

A doorbell ringing surprised me at six-thirty. The fan-chat had gone great, but the commercial... not so marvelous. I lived through, though, and ended up looking really sexy while saying the words "I love the NBC Awards! Every year, I'm so excited for them!"

I cautiously crept toward the front door, in a snappish kind of mood since I hated anyone interrupting my online Gordo-hunting. There was no fisheye hole to look through and confirm the person, so I slowly opened the wooden door, and what I saw surprised me in the greatest way possible.

A man was standing in front of me, a very handsome man, to put it politely. His looks made Gordo seem as good-looking seem like a barn rat, and his voice, oh, his voice was like rich chocolate ice cream melting in your mouth. I melted alongside it as the god-like creature spoke. "Hey, sweetie," he drawled in his playfully cute voice.

These two words revealed his identity, and I knew in a split second he must be, "Parker?" I whispered, staring at the muscles bulging through his tuxedo.

"Ready to go?" he had a broad grin on his face, which faded when he saw my newly bought (after the TRL fan-chat) sweatshirt and jeans. "I guess not," he said ice-creamily and whip-toppingly.

I gazed at him starry-eyed. "Parker, you look amazing," I sighed, watching as he waved his hand through his silk-like hair.

"Thanks. Now, go get dressed, we have to go!" He exposed a bouquet of roses from behind his back, handed them to me courteously, and sat down, squared-shouldered, on the nearest couch.

"Go where?" I questioned, plucking a rose from the bouquet and smelling its breathtaking scent. My schedule hadn't said anything...

"To the dinner party, remember, honey?"

Sadly, I didn't remember. I picked up my calendar book and gasped when I saw "Dinner with Parker" penciled in at the bottom of the day. "Oh, stupid me, how could I forget? I'll be right back... uh, watch TV if you want, the remote's right there."

I sprinted into my royal bedroom and hastily tore through my closet, in search of the most perfect outfit available. During my rushed closet raid, a few questions aroused in my head. Why did I find this Parker so incredibly striking? I had met plenty of charming guys before, but none of them had the affect that Parker had. He had an overwhelming sense of magnetism that just took me aback and made me melt right at his very feet, not unlike the same sensation I felt around Gordo. And that brought up another brilliant point: What about Gordo? I mean, one second with Parker made me forget that my heart was already occupied with love for someone else, so did that mean that my love for Gordo was just a strange illusion?

I loved Gordo, I knew I did... but something about Parker just got to me, and it was odd that I had no idea what. It was partly his looks, for no one could turn down a combination of a face and a body like his. But something else... he gave off a calming sort of aura that was too complex for words. And while I pondered about the complexity for Parker Mason's aura, I heard a loud yell.

"Elle! Hurry up!"

I gave up on my quest for the ideal outfit and grabbed a slinky navy-colored dress off one of the racks, seeing as it matched Parker's suit. I pulled it on, and saw that it hugged my hips a little more tightly than it should have, probably because I had so suddenly gone way off course Elle's crash diet. I didn't bother to brush my hair or else it would've straightened out the marvelous curls thanks to the NBC studio. After slipping on strappy black shoes and adjusting my three-inch earrings (ouch, I know), I heard Parker call out a second time.

"Honey, I'm leaving!"

"No!" I yelled as I put on the last touches of my mascara. "No, wait just one second!"

I heard a faint mutter which was unmistakably a very quiet murmur of the word "Chicks" tumbling out of Parker's lips.

"I heard that!" I smiled playfully and ran to him, all ready to go.

He put his arm around my waist and all of a sudden, like an unexpected red light, my brain shifted gears and I pulled away, appalled that I had let someone other than my beloved Gordo do that.

"What's wrong?" He truly looked concerned, so I decided to be somewhat nicer than I had thought I would've been.

"Maybe... maybe we shouldn't go." I suggested hastily.

His left eyebrow shot all the way up. "Why?"

I opened my mouth to say something, but of course, nothing came out. There was nothing to say, except, "I don't love you," and I certainly wasn't going to risk Elle's relationship with Parker for that. I had done enough damage to her body already, not to mention other little things I had ruined.

"Is there something wrong?" He put a hand on my shoulder, and I jerked away again. "Is there someone else?"

I shook my head so that there would be no doubt in his mind that Elle McGuire had someone else. "I just... don't want to go."

"Is it because you want to break up?" He asked solemnly.

I just shrugged, because if I had said something, he would've been heartbroken. And I realized that as pretty as this guy's face was, I just wasn't buying the charm. I was still a devotee of Gordo, and that was the way it was going to stay. His Greek god-like body was hard to resist, but I smiled at him with full force now.

"Just... never mind." I waved my hand around for the eight thousandth time that day. "Let's go."

He ran his hand through his sandy-colored hair nervously, reminding me quite a bit of Gordo. I shook my head to myself as we climbed into his car. For a minute (or ten) I had actually fallen in love with someone other than Gordo. Well, maybe not fallen in love with, but I had certainly fallen in to deep like, which was almost as scary. Was my adoration for Gordo so fragile that it couldn't even withstand the simple test of a good looking actor?

A mind-boggling thought struck me then. What if this Parker guy _was _Gordo? Now, that was a crazy thought, but he could've had a bit of plastic surgery, changed his name, and voila, a new and improved Gordo! I blinked and decided that I had been thinking about odd fantasies like that too much.

The way he ran his fingers through his was awfully attractive and somewhat familiar, though, and I imagined him kissing me. It didn't seem right, like maybe wet and sloppy and he'd have to lean down, like, a foot to get my lips. The muscles would probably crush me to death... okay, this guy was not Gordo. Just my imagination working overtime.

Gordo was the right size, though, to fit into my arms and wrap his around me, to caress my lips with his since he was just a tad bit taller than me. I licked my lips in anticipation for something that wasn't going to happen, and exactly that second, the car screeched to a stop in front of a boring looking building made of gray concrete. It looked as if it had been abandoned for years, except that all of the lights were on and I could see through the window that people were mindlessly chatting away. By the way they were dressed, it seemed as if it were a business meeting.

"Media's not here," he said in satisfaction. "Mission accomplished."

I smiled like I knew what he meant and followed him to the door, clutching my floor-sweeping skirt and wondering if it was appropriate for this party. I had always though that these Hollywood parties were with the girls half-dressed with their snazzy cut-here cut-there dresses, and the guys wearing just jeans and a five-trillion dollar shirt, which they so carelessly tore off the sleeves of. Something like that, with lots of cameras and paparazzi and alcoholic beverages to go around. Not in my wildest dreams had I imagined a five-story building with no limos parked outside, and guys dressed in tuxes and woman in business suits.

I walked in self-consciously, with God-boy next to me, holding my hand. Gross and sweaty from the leather on his steering wheel, I figured. It was okay, though, but nothing like touching palms with my sweetheart. Sweethearts... I had gotten a box of those from him last Valentine's Day, and I threw the ones that say I love you at him, but I didn't think he noticed. He just picked them off the ground and popped them in his mouth... guys will be guys. I shook my head as we glided into the next room. (Only to be met by a mob of one, so it wasn't much of a grand entrance.) Why did everything I thought about link back to Gordo?

"Elle!" An elderly man, rating as ineligible on the Is-He-As-Hot-As-Gordo scale, grinned enthusiastically. (Parker got a 7.5 if you were wondering.) "Parker! Wonderful!" He clapped his hands together. "We've got the dinner ready, just come on downstairs!"

While he bounced away, I whispered to Parker, "Dinner's _downstairs_?"

He looked at me with a look that implied, 'Don't you know _anything_?'

I scoffed a scoff that meant, 'No, you moron, I don't.'

Downstairs was kind of an odd place to have dinner, but I didn't say anything, and as we stepped onto the first stair, I knew that had been the right choice. It was like a restaurant, only bigger and fancier and who-knows-what-ier. The lights glimmered, the plates shimmered, waiters at every table, the menus had hundred of choices... amazing.

I soon figured out that this was a witty ruse to keep the media away. Even if it leaked out them that all of these stars were having a private get-together, they'd never figure out where. Nobody showed up in fancy cars, nobody wore fancy clothes (well, formal, but not all expensive-looking and whatnot), the works. The media was completely clueless, and the party was a success. I also learned that there were several different types of parties. Public parties, which were parties where the media slinked all over the place, snapping pictures and getting interviews, private parties, where only a few selective mobs of paparazzi were allowed, and secret parties, what this one was. There were four different types of clothing themes. There was casual, the wear-whatever-you-want, then the showy, where you strut your stuff and show off all you've got and the money that bought it, and the sexy, where you wear the least amount of clothes you can get away with, and then there was the formal, where you wore tuxes and dresses.

After dinner (it was eventless, needless to say), everyone started chatting upstairs. There were groups of only men and only women and groups that were mixed. Most of the talking they were doing was gossiping, but some of it was quite interesting. I politely listened to Parker's group of famous actors and got bored and disgusted after a while. I set off on my own to go eavesdrop on other's conversations. One group of younger female actresses were laughing about something, and when I got nearer to them, they shut up.

Several times people wandered over to me (I was sitting alone quite conveniently in an armchair by the door) and started making mindless chat, which bored the heck out of me. I didn't even understand what some of the people talked about. I was getting uncommonly bored when I heard someone, in a faraway corner of the boredom room, say "David Gordon."

My eyes practically popped out of my head. Yes, it could very possibly be one of the many David Gordons I had talked to that afternoon, but there was still a chance. I mean, how many David Gordons could live in one city? I knew he might not even live in LA, but that didn't bother me. I refused to consider the possibility that he was living somewhere far away. I just had a feeling that he was here.

I followed the voice and grinned in excitement when I found him.

"Hey, were you guys just talking about David Gordon?" I asked politely, interrupting their conversation entirely.

"Uhhh... yeah." A cute-looking guy answered. "My sister works with him. Says he's the sexiest thing on earth."

Sure sounded like Gordo to me.

I looked at him hungrily. "What does he do?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I dunno... something with computers. Rich guy. What do you care?"

I sighed, not wanting to explain the irony of it all. "Childhood friend. Long story." I smiled quickly. "Do you have his address or phone number or both?"

"No..." The guy looked at me up and down, making me feel utterly self-conscious. "But for you, Elle baby, I'll get it."

I suppressed the urge of strangling him for calling me baby. It was all for Gordo. It didn't matter. It was a benefit that I was so good-looking now, or else he wouldn't have gotten it for me.

He made a few calls on his phone call, and for twenty long minutes I was restless. I sat down, tapping my foot so rapidly I couldn't believe it hadn't fallen off by the time he got my information. He hung up with a click, and handed me a piece of paper that said, in scribbled letters:

3746 Parkinson Court

Dynasty, CA

564-235-7431

I kissed the paper and scurried off toward Parker. I was so enthralled that I was almost emotionless. Gordo, Gordo! I found him! 3746 Parkinson Court, Dynasty, CA! Dynasty was about fifteen minutes away from Hillridge, making it twenty-five minutes away from LA. Tomorrow I'd hop on a bus or drive or anything, and get there. There was no way I could fail now!

When I got home, I called him, but no one picked up. I just got his machine, in which he sounded so _adorable_! It was so nice to hear his voice again. So excited I almost peed in my pants, I went to bed, but not really to sleep, but to dream of what was to come the next day.

Life was good.

A/N: Badly written, rushed at the end... I don't like it much. It didn't make much sense, but still, I needed Lizzie to get contact to Gordo somehow, and this is the first thing that popped into my mind. Seventh grade is very stressful, so be glad I even took time to actually write this out, because trust me, I do NOT have the time anymore. Next chapter is nice. Short, definitely, but nice. And you get to see Gordo!!! Barely, but still. Next chappie's called Lost and Found, so look for that!!

xoxo,

PersonY2K


	6. Lost and Found

**..:Lost and Found:..**

A/N: Like, OH EM GEE, legendary PersonY2K is back, after a yearlong break! I'm here to finish this story and maybe even right some more L/G fics, but it has been so long – hopefully I've improved, you see for yourself. I've half written this chapter already, so let's continue . . . lord, I forget how this fanfiction stuff works.

---

The next morning I woke up incredibly late. That tends to happen, doesn't it, whenever you're excited. You feel as if you're going to wake up bright and early because you're just so ecstatic to do whatever you're going to do, but then the next morning you glance at your clock and it's all "hallelujah, I'm late!" from there.

I rolled over and glanced at my clock. 9:06. 'Aw, it's a Saturday, I can sleep in,' I thought, starting to snuggle under the covers again, but that's when my brain caught up with my body and I sat bolt upright in the bed.

Of course! I wasn't Lizzie anymore, this was Elle! And I had found Gordo's address! And… the whole day came flooding back to me in a stream of emotions and thoughts. I pushed off my covers and went off to once again find the kitchen. I had a long day ahead of me.

It was funny, because while I was mixing together my newly-bought cereal, I was so ambitious to start finding Gordo that I almost forgot why. It was when I saw his framed picture in the back of the living room that I discovered why this quest was so important. Trying my hardest not to weep, I threw on my clothes, the sexiest and glittery-est I could find, and did my makeup. This was going to be my day, when our roles were switched. Me, as the amazing one, and him, as the swooning one. Oh, how long I had waited for this day! Throughout all of those pathetic girlfriends and mindless chattering, the hope that this day would soon arrive had kept me sane, and now it was finally that day.

I rehearsed it in my mind as I drove to Dynasty, how it would happen. I would ring the doorbell, no, knock on the door, and then he'd open it and I'd grab those soft cheeks of his and kiss him to death. Or maybe he'd answer, and I'd just stand there until he realized who I was and why I was there. There were so many possibilities, and not a negative one was adrift in my mind. It was all going to be perfect, no matter how it happened. As long as it happened today.

Sometime during my drive, I spaced out and began thinking about Gordo while subconsciously driving. If I could just touch him, it would be wonderful. And to run my hand through that gorgeous hair that resided atop his head… heaven, without a doubt. Still with mixed theories why I loved him so much, the daydreams started to drift in.

Romance scenes worthy of "Gone with the Wind" whirled about in my head, creating scenes of unforgettable love. Hand in hand as we strolled down the beach at midnight, my hair getting tousled in the light breeze, our feet touching as the water washed over them, staring at each other. His whispers drifted across my face and I beamed up at him, absorbing his dreamy voice and gazing into his humongous blue eyes. The sensation of his arm around my waist made my knees go weak, and yet we kept walking, together. Forever.

I closed my eyes and sighed, only to be brought back to consciousness by honking horns. Whoops, wrong lane. I sheepishly corrected my driving and began driving peacefully again, although this time an ounce more alert. I was now in Dynasty, and I stopped at a gas station to get directions.

"Excuse me, do you know where Parkinson Court is?" I rolled down the window and asked hastily, not giving the guy time to realize who I was.

"Yeah, it's four blocks that way, then take a right and then go straight for about a mile and then you'll see Marine Drive, and keep going until you turn left onto Parkinson," the guy pointed as he told me where to go. He squinted at me. "Hey, aren't you—"

"Thanks!" I rolled up my window and drove away quickly, leaving the gas guy completely confused.

I was starting to lose the feeling in my knees. I knew that in approximately seven minutes I would be ringing the doorbell of Gordo's house, and then he would open it, and then I would jump on top of him, squeezing him half to death. I realized that it was a possibility that he wasn't even home, but I didn't dare fill my head with pessimistic thoughts.

It was when I turned onto Marine Drive that I realized that Gordo and I had been apart for merely one lousy (okay, maybe not so lousy) day, and yet I was going absolutely crazy over him. Suffering from withdrawal, if you will. I cherished each and every moment I spent with Gordo, but never had those moments mattered as much as they did now. It was true; nothing seems important until it's gone.

My eyes filled up with thick tears of happiness as I saw the sign for Parkinson Court. My vision was blurred I glanced around, trying to find 3746. And there it was. A simple white house, stylistically touched up with stucco exterior, four windows, split-level… whatever. I didn't care, even if it was most possibly my next home. I practically glided out of the car and straightened my outfit. By the time I reached the door, I was not only trembling like it was negative fifty outside, but was crying, smearing all of my makeup by trying to wipe my tears.

I made one last prayer to God and pressed that doorbell hard, and It echoed through my heart like a thousand bells chiming and I closed my eyes, waiting for the door to open.

And so it did.

---

I found myself snuggled up in the warmth of a super-smushy couch, holding something that looked like a blanket dotted with miniscule bears. I blinked and stared at the layer of white-and-green smush that was in front of me. Where was I now? I was not up to more suddenly-changing experiences, not after the last one.

And of course, like it always does, everything cam flooding back to me so quickly I almost drowned in the sea of memories. What had happened? The doorbell had rung, and the door had opened, and now I was on a couch…? The series of events didn't fit. When had I fallen asleep? I couldn't even recall coming into this odd house with the black-and-green smush couches.

I rolled over so now I faced the room. "Nice house." I whispered.

"You think so?"

I froze, and yet I managed to turn around. And there, right in front of me, stood Gordo, the same as he had been before, with his unruly curls in a big mess, his sweatshirt hanging loosely on his shoulders, and his jeans stained with grease and other food particles. I stared at him, speechless.

"It's not much." He sighed. "So, you feeling better?"

I blinked, unable to make my jaw to move.

He smiled, making me blush like an idiot. "At first when I saw you collapsed in a heap at my front door, I almost called 9-1-1. Then I noticed it was _you_. Elle McGuire. God." He shook his head and handed me a glass of orange juice. "I wanted to make sure you were completely passed out before handing you over to the doctors… we haven't talked in ages."

I nodded, taking a slow sip of orange juice and admiring every inch of this moment. Four feet away, we were barely four feet away from each other. His eyes were right there, gazing into mine—well, not so much as _gazing_, but he was looking at me. After all, he supposedly hadn't seen me in ten years or so, and little did he know that I had ran out on him just a few lousy days ago because he was so stupidly preoccupied with that egocentric Britney-Spears wannabe.

I wanted to hate him so badly, but one look—one mere _glance_ at him and all hatred was lost. How could anyone hate just an innocent, amazing, wonderful guy like Gordo? Reviving a semi-stranger from fainting and then offering her juice… only Gordo would do it.

"So, what's been going on? Well, besides the Miss America thing…" He sat down on a nearby couch and looked at me intently, obviously expecting a spoken answer. But what was this girl to do? I was completely muted.

"I…" A sound! Eureka!

A tear started to form in the way back of my eye, a tear mixed of joy and sadness, and I could've sworn that good old Gordo spotted it before I did, for he started to console me right away.

"Oh, it's okay. You don't have to say anything..."

It rolled down my cheek and opened my voice. "Hey, Gordo." I said suddenly, sitting upright.

He looked at me, confused. "Hey."

"I missed you." I managed to squeak out, and he just smiled and replied with a simple "me too".

It was hard to explain how badly I felt like shrieking "I LOVE YOU", but I held back. How awkward would that be, having your ex-best-friend turn famous then come back to you someday and yell 'I love you'? I would be calling the authorities for sure. But it was so hard… especially as he ran his hand through his hair… I wasn't sure if I was living in one of my fantasies or if this was really real.

He laughed a laugh that was dripping simplicity, a laugh that tickled my insides and made me want to giggle. I didn't say anything in fear of bursting out into hysterics; he seemed to understand. We just sat in silence, glancing at each other every now and then to see if we should say something, but no words were spoken. It was a nice, comforting silence, not dripping with tension as I had dreaded.

"So, um . . ." I stumbled through icebreakers, although there wasn't much ice here. I wanted to say something, anything; so I said the first thing that came to mind – and turned out to be a huge mistake. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

He blushed madly. I hoped this was because he was shy of _not _having one, as opposed shy of _having_ one. I could tell he didn't want to talk about it, but I hadn't worked so hard to find him to talk about the weather. And now that I could speak reasonably, I was going to squeeze it out of him whether he liked it or not.

"I, uh . . ." he turned away for a few seconds, and when he was back, he smiled. "Are you sure you're okay? I mean, should I call a doctor . . . do you need water?"

So he was changing the subject, eh? Obviously something was going on with his love life; hopefully, he was infatuated by me and was too embarrassed to speak of another woman to my face. She would simply not be worthy of mentioning . . . oh, who was I kidding?

And what had happened to my plans of kissing him right when I saw him? I had been so weak that I had fainted at the sight of him, he probably thought I was some type of drama queen now that I was famous. I wanted to show him the Lizzie he was in love with in the body of Elle, but it wasn't proving to be as easy as I had thought.

"No, no, I'm fine, just haven't been eating much lately," I lied, battering my eyelashes at him and hoping to spark some sexual interest.

His expression didn't waver in the least, but he sighed. "Well, would you want to go out to dinner or something . . . just to catch up on times. I understand you have a busy schedule and all –"

My eyes widened at this and I cut him off immediately. This was my big chance! "Oh, no, it's fine. In fact, I'll pay."

"Haha, no, you really shouldn't," he grinned.

I rolled my eyes. "I should, and I will. See you at . . . Francesco's Garden, have you heard of that place?"

"Have I ever," he ran his fingers through his mess of hair, and I melted. I had been waiting for him to do that ever since I had woken. "See you at eight."

"It's a date."


End file.
